The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (16 page)

“I confess I did not expect to see you two so early this morning.”

Tad shrugged. “It’s not often we get the chance to experience something like this. This place is so strange, I guess we both thought that the more we see of their way of life, the more we might understand what happened here.”

Sullyan nodded her approval. “My thoughts exactly. Also, when we arrived here yesterday I was curious as to why there was no snow on the higher peaks, considering how far north we are. I believe I know why that is, and if I am correct, we shall see the reason this morning and the sight will be worth the early rise. But, gentlemen, I caution you to remember we are guests here. When we are conducted to the site of the service, I advise you to keep your eyes open and your mouths closed, unless there are opportunities to join with the service. Remember, this is a silent order and we must respect that.”

They’d just finished their fellan when Frar Varian arrived, and they followed him out into the frigid early darkness. There had been a brisk easterly wind and a significant fall of snow during the night, and white flakes lay thick upon the path. As they made their way in silence, the air was still and the white crusting on the ground grew less and less. Sullyan could feel the temperature of the air changing as they passed the lightless windows of the Patrio’s private residence and wound their way ever upward, ever more steeply, following the slowly pacing Frar. She felt rather than saw the glance Cal gave her as he, too, registered the slightly warmer air. She was pleased he was keeping his wits about him.

The walls of sharply jutting rock bordering their path loomed toward them as they climbed higher, forcing them to walk in line. Eventually, Sullyan could make out Varian’s faint silhouette against the marginally lighter sky and they finally emerged onto a level track.

The constricting rock walls ended abruptly, giving Sullyan the distinct impression of a vast open space before her. As yet, there was insufficient light to see much, but she could tell that the fall of snow hadn’t settled here; the ground was only damp. She followed Frar Varian as he turned left and led them farther along the level path, their legs grateful for the respite from the sheer gradient. Soon, he turned to Sullyan and placed a hand on her shoulder, indicating they should wait here. She touched Cal and Tad in turn and they stood facing the vast open space they could all sense as Varian walked away.

Silence settled like a comforting cloak. Sullyan used the time to extend her senses into her surroundings. She now knew what she would see when the light grew strong enough. She could feel the emanations rising from the rock all around her. They suffused her with a sense of antiquated majesty, but they also carried the faint hint of menace such places always exuded. The air was crisp with the clarity that often comes on cloudless winter mornings, and she knew the sunrise would be spectacular. The stars in the west shone brightly, the morning star in the east glittering with silver pulses.

The more she employed her metasenses, the more she could feel people around her. They weren’t visible yet, but she knew there were many. They ranged on both sides of her, all standing in silence facing the east, all anticipating the glory to come. She could almost taste the excitement, the tingle of worship, and immersed herself in the sensation.

When the sound began, she almost missed it. It was subliminal, muted, but as natural as breathing. It might almost have been the combined pulse of the island community, each heart joining to beat as one to welcome the coming of the sun. It increased gradually in volume and resolved itself into its separate components, and soon she could hear individual voices chanting softly, each sustaining its own note. There must have been two or three hundred throats giving tongue to that low, humming drone, and it reverberated through the rock at her feet, echoing in the hollows of her soul.

The light grew and the sound grew with it, intensifying and deepening, swelling as the light of the new sun painted the sky with peach. The silhouette of the rocky peaks stood out starkly against the pink-stained east and the voices modulated, rising and falling now in single and multiple tones, building toward a towering crescendo which would erupt into song when the first ray of the new sun glanced over the island’s rim.

Sullyan could see them now. Perhaps two hundred and thirty people stood ranged in a huge semicircle to either side of her, robed and cowled, their hoods drawn up, heads bowed before the dawn. As the light increased and the incredible thrum of voices soared toward the heavens, they raised their arms, stretching upward and outward in a gesture of reverence and welcome.

And then the first ray of sunlight burst blindingly over the horizon, cresting the edge of the world and the island as one. Shooting sharply through a narrow slit in the island’s eastern peak, its full force struck upon a single man, standing hooded and insignificant until the primal sun limned his figure with gold. Sullyan had already identified Cleric Patrio Ruvar where he stood fifty paces from her, and in that instant of golden glory she saw him throw back his head, his arms upraised, and heard his full-throated Paean to the Sun. The warm, yellow shaft of sunlight flooded down the rock face, spilling like liquid life force into the vast, rocky crater that lay at their feet.

The volcano’s bowl echoed and amplified the Patrio’s song, and the assembled clerics now abandoned their chant and joined in the psalm, their voices swelling and flowing, melodies twining around a central theme. This triumphant laudation soared toward the heavens, a worshipful greeting and heartfelt thanksgiving for the circle of life and the turning of the Wheel, renewing all creation.

The heady primal power emanating from both newborn sun and the rock beneath her feet flooded Sullyan’s being with a force too strong to resist. Caught up in the glory of the moment, she flung back her head, adding her lilting voice to the multitude. She closed her eyes, drinking in the heat of the new sun bathing her with fiery glory, but not before noticing the swift glance of amazement flung her way by Ruvar. She wondered which surprised the man more; her knowledge of the song, or her desire to join the worship.

The song slowly faded, dwindling down as it had spiraled up, and as the burnished disk of the sun rose completely over the horizon, the muted voices stilled. Sullyan opened her eyes and regarded the spectacle before her. It was as if tangible light filled and lapped at the crater of the dormant volcano, bringing vibrant color to the stark, barren rock. Hues of gold and russet, tan and brown, pink and amber were revealed within the bowl, and a faint shimmer of warmth rose from the banked fires deep within the earth’s crust.

She stared at this wonder, reflecting that many more people might find their way to faith if they could only witness such rebirth, experience the glory that was in the world and see the mystery of creation revealed with such intense, majestic power. She felt extremely privileged that the talents of her birthright enabled her to sense these ancient and venerable forces so acutely.

She and her two companions stood and listened to the rest of the ritual in silence. It didn’t last long. Sunrise was the shortest of the Services of the Wheel. When it was over, the people massed about the crater’s rim slowly and silently filed back down the path to whatever tasks awaited them. As they passed the three guests, Tad barely suppressed a gasp of surprise when he saw how many were women. There were even some children among them.

Sullyan turned to leave, but stopped when she saw Patrio Ruvar approaching, a stooped figure by his side. She waited for them, Cal and Tad behind her.

“You have an unusually pure and well-trained voice, Colonel Sullyan,” Ruvar remarked as he halted before her, regarding her with curiosity tinged with respect. “I confess that when I granted your request to witness this morning’s service, I didn’t expect to hear it raised in worship beside us.”

She replied levelly. “Did you not, Patrio? Why else did you think I made that request? Or do you believe as the Baron did, that we Artesans are pagan witches, not fit to follow your faith?”

The intangible sense of challenge was present once again in her tone and she sensed Cal stiffen, wondering how Ruvar would react. But the Patrio had obviously revised whatever opinions he might have held the day before, and he accepted her mild rebuke.

“The Faith of the Wheel is open to all. It’s not for me to say who may or may not follow its path. That is for each soul to decide and for God to judge.” He inclined his head toward her. “Your joyful contribution to our Paean was most welcome.”

“You are kind, Patrio. I hope I did not intrude upon your personal communion.”

“Not at all,” he assured her. He turned to the man waiting in silence beside him. “Colonel Sullyan, this is Frar Durren, who witnessed the Baron’s fall into the sea. He has agreed to speak with you. He will tell you what he saw and then he will take you to the rooms the Baron occupied. Frar Varian will await you there. Once you have concluded your business, it would please me if you and your men would breakfast with me.”

Sullyan raised her brows and gave the Patrio a warm smile. “You are most accommodating, Patrio Ruvar. I thank you for your gracious invitation. It would be good to talk over our findings with you before we leave.”

The Patrio bowed and withdrew, leaving them with the stooped Frar Durren. He cast back the cowl of his robe, revealing a balding head that at one time had been shaved in the fashion of Frar Varian. Durren was in his sixties and physically frail, but his blue eyes were clear and candid and the smile he turned on them was tentative but genuine.

“I am most grateful for your compliance in this matter, Frar Durren,” said Sullyan. “I assure you we will not keep you from your duties longer than is necessary. Might we start by seeing the place from which Baron Reen cast himself into the sea?”

The cleric turned to lead the way. “It is around the other side of the crater. I must warn you, there is a steep climb.”

As they walked, Sullyan asked the Frar how he’d come to witness the Baron’s demise. In a voice scratchy with misuse, the elderly cleric related what he had seen that night.

“It was an hour past midnight and I was working in the archives. I often lose track of time these days, and when my candle burned low and I rose to fetch another, I realized the lateness of the hour. I left the library and set out for my dwelling. As I came around the edge of the crater, I heard a sound I didn’t recognize.”

He glanced at Sullyan. “Among a silent order such as ours, sounds take on a special significance. Here on this island, we’ve become accustomed to the sounds of the sea. Most of us can tell when a storm is brewing, no matter how far offshore, just by the changing patterns of the waves breaking on the rocks.

“It was a cloudless and moonlit night and the sound I’d heard carried clearly. It was a low moaning sound, and as it came again, I realized it was the sound of a body in pain.”

Sullyan raised her brows but made no comment. The Frar continued as the path they followed sloped sharply upward once more, his breath laboring with the increased gradient.

“My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but even I had no difficulty picking out the shape of a man toiling his way up this track. Concerned, I followed. Being long used to silence, it didn’t occur to me to call out. If I’d suspected his destructive intentions, I might have overcome my habitual silence, but I didn’t.”

There was regret and self-blame in the old Frar’s breathy voice, and Sullyan said softly, “How could you suspect, Frar? And I suppose you had no indication at this point as to the man’s identity?”

Durren shook his head. “No. The Baron had taken to wearing the robes of our order and he had become lean and frail, as many of us are. In the darkness, it could have been any of a number of men.”

They continued on in silence. The steep track ended abruptly and Frar Durren came to a halt. Sullyan stepped up beside him. He put out a veined hand to catch her arm, a warning in his voice. “Have a care, lady! The ledge is narrow and treacherous. One false step and you would take the same final journey as the Baron.”

She looked where he indicated and saw they had climbed one of the island’s tall peaks, a remnant of an ancient, earlier crater. The track was well-defined and Sullyan surmised other services of the faith were performed from this spectacular platform.

They now stood upon a narrow, rocky outcrop overhanging the swell of the sea far below. From this point, they had a panoramic view of the entire horizon. The view was quite breathtaking if one ignored the strange sucking sensation that pulled at the senses from the heaving waters hundreds of feet below.

Taking firm control of her muscles, Sullyan leaned out as far as she dared to look at what lay below. When Patrio Ruvar had spoken of the jagged rocks that reefed the island he hadn’t exaggerated their threat. If a body were to fall straight down from this point, it couldn’t avoid being dashed to pieces on the spikes and ridges of black volcanic rock huddling close to the island’s frothy skirts. Even now, without the effects of a blown-out storm, Sullyan could see how the waves sucked and surged among the rocks, and could well believe they would sweep away a human form if one came to rest on such a cruel deathbed.

She stared in fascination at the water far below, thinking the doubts she had harbored about the Baron’s death should surely be laid to rest by what she saw. Never mind the lethal rocks: such a dizzying plunge into the sea would certainly dash the life from a fit and healthy body, let alone one as frail as the Baron’s. Wouldn’t it?

Frowning, she straightened and turned once more to Frar Durren. “What exactly did you see when the Baron reached this point?”

Durren’s eyes clouded. “The moaning had increased in intensity, as if the man was in tremendous pain. His hands and the sleeves of his robe looked dark and wet in the moonlight, and later when the light returned we found smears of blood. I saw him clasp his arms about his chest and he shrieked aloud in torment. I tried to call to him, fearing what he might do, but my voice wouldn’t obey me. I tried to hurry my steps, but I’m old and the way is steep. There was nothing I could do.